"It rains on your clear eyes."

It rains on your clear eyes.
A photo in the Plaza de Mayo, a pillar
of faces paves the way.
My father looks at you
and turns away.
(Diaphragm contracting
and opening, as if waking
from an old dream).
Absent. Between still frames, papa swims and I
Eight years bold, on my knees, see
my name in you.
A translucent wall, a mattress of
noise, separates me from
the plaza. Here inside, your name and I,
the voices that silenced us.
The dome opens above us
Catedral gasps for air:
there it is, the disappeared image
and in waves
the distant vibration returns, the crowd
the footsteps, shouts, meetings. A flood
in your eyes, my father’s eyes.